


Score One

by Bibliotecaria_D



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:17:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2135064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliotecaria_D/pseuds/Bibliotecaria_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The Decepticons laid their last bets and staked out the door, waiting to verify the final score.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Score One

“The Decepticons laid their last bets and staked out the door, waiting to verify the final score.”

 

 **Title:** Score One  
**Warning:** G1 ridiculousness and violence; Autobots manipulating human preconceived ideas; Decepticons being Decepticons at each other. Lots of references to sticky type sex and equipment.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Continuity:** G1  
**Characters:** Megatron, Starscream, Shockwave, Soundwave  
**Disclaimer:** The theatre doesn’t own the script or actors.  
**Motivation (Prompt):** For Anonymous from a kinkmeme prompt: http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=11975936#t11975936

 **[* * * * *]**

 

Rumor had it that Megatron had once crushed a mech’s spike with his valve.

Everyone knew that the pressure was on the mech who had to put himself out there, but rarely had the act of taking a spike been a fearsome threat. Sure, there was always the question of what happened when someone failed to satisfy, but that’s why spiking was the submissive act. Spill out too soon, and a mech better be prepared to get his mouth, fingers, and maybe the rest of his unit down there to finish things off. A beating was a legitimate concern if a subordinate Decepticon shot his load before his superior tipped over. There might be some kicks to the equipment if the timing were particularly bad.

Yeah, first rule of interfacing among the Decepticons? Don’t try to edge unless everybody’s on board with the plan. Sexual frustration among mechs with guns didn’t go over well.

Outright crushing spikes was a level up from knowing a mech had to keep it hard and ready, however. That was terrifying. 

It wasn’t surprise that Megatron preferred his valve. The common assumption was that most of the more dominant Decepticons did, with the strange exception of Starscream, which wasn’t that strange once his former lover thawed on Earth. Being the dominant lover didn’t change size issues. There wasn’t a chance in the Pit a frametype like his could have taken when Skyfire was literally twice his size. Starscream had always preferred the triplechangers, too. It wasn’t that he was submissive in the berth; he just liked his lovers huge.

No wonder he was so good with his mouth. It made sense in retrospect. Mystery solved.

As a consequence of the rumors surrounding Megatron, Starscream was the only one who didn’t immediately find pressing business to attend to when the leader of the Decepticons started looking a bit restless. The second someone caught onto excess charge radiating off of Megatron’s energy field, soldiers scattered to the far corners of the base. Officers retreated into stiff, formal professionalism, looking right through any hints of flirting that their commander might send their way. 

Starscream didn’t change his behavior one iota. If his personality wasn’t enough of a charge-killer for Megatron, then nothing he could do would change the silver mech’s mind. Half of the Decepticons were convinced Megatron was riding Starscream through the berth to keep the Air Commander in line, anyway. The other half figured Starscream had seduced his way into their leader’s berth to get promoted in the first place.

Regardless of how or why, _everyone_ thought they were clanging. If they weren’t, they should be. Those two could smelt steel with the passion in their arguments already. While they yelled and fought, the Decepticons around them tended to slip into daydreams of how good they’d look going at it.

And it wasn’t like anyone else was willing to risk sticking it to Megatron. Nobody else had the foolhardy overconfidence it’d take to risk their spikes. Their leader was incredibly sexy, off the charts on the lust scale, but that made the danger even worse. A mech would have to resist that extreme sexiness beneath him -- maybe writhing, maybe _moaning,_ dear holy Primus -- and not pop. Who’d be able to do that? Nobody, not even the most cool-headed Decepticon in the galaxy, would be able to take Lord fragging Megatron and not come like a tidal wave the moment he sank between those thighs. Or see _the_ command presence in the ranks mounted on top, about to give some personal orders that -- guh, too late. Be realistic. Any mech underneath that would have already overloaded so hard he’d be useless afterward.

Bam. Crunch-ola on the spike right then and there, and considering who’d just been disappointed? He’d be entirely justified in crushing any tool that had failed him that badly.

Nobody could take tap that aft and make it out intact. He was just too much for normal mechs to handle. 

The only other option was going for the spike, and who the slag was going to offer his valve to the lord of the cosmos? Oh, yeah, sure, just casually spread ‘em and tell the boss who’s in charge. _No fragging way._

By the time Earth got involved in the war, the rumor about Megatron’s valve strength was such an accepted fact that even the Autobots had heard about it. It made things a little awkward when the humans found out about how recreational interfacing worked among their alien robotic visitors from planet Cybertron, but not nearly so awkward as when said aliens found out about how humans did their own version of fragging. If it wasn’t weird enough that standard configuration of a human’s array was single-option equipment, the power dynamics surrounding their options were just plain backward.

“Wait, what?” Every other conversation in the common room came to a screeching halt as heads whipped toward the big screen someone had set up as a TV. It took a lot to shut up mechs on the _Victory_ , but saying women were the weaker sex had a whole room of warriors craning their necks to stare. 

“That just ain’t right,” Thrust said, unnerved. 

Dirge peered around him to stare at the screen. “Aren’t they the ones with the valves?”

“Like I said: that ain’t right.”

Still, it was ‘science’ on a backwater mudball planet. Humans had some strange ideas about how the universe worked. The Decepticons scoffed and moved on with their lives, thinking no more about it.

Up until the Autobots started _using_ it.

Megatron stared. Soundwave stared. Starscream laughed a tad hysterically. The rest of the officers tried to disappear into the walls of the briefing room.

In front of them, Swindle and Vortex shuffled their feet and exchanged helpless looks. 

“Why,” Megatron said slowly in a voice of oncoming doom, “did you feel the need to answer that question?”

Another helpless glance at each other, because they were so slagged but neither had a clue how to avoid certain death. Onslaught was busy pretending he didn’t know them, had never seen them, and was in no way going to come to the rescue of two strangers. 

Swindle swallowed and offered a feeble shadow of his sales smile. “It didn’t seem like a trick question? I mean, Hussein’s been a good customer. Nobody said anything to us about him being anything but an ally, so why wouldn’t I answer? He said he just wanted me to confirm a rumor, and -- and I didn’t **know** about humans being are all weird about valves!”

Starscream laughed harder. A subtle shove from Scrapper toppled him off his chair, but he didn’t stop laughing. The obnoxious shrill laughter came from under the table.

Megatron, on the other hand, looked like a thundercloud about to spit lightning. “You told a militant, violently religious head of state in a hyper-masculine area of this primitive world that I interface primarily with the piece of anatomy they associate solely with their females, which they vilify and shun. You felt that confirming this ‘rumor’ was necessary.”

“Well, when you put it **that** way, it does sound stupid,” Vortex muttered. He straightened and raised his voice. “It’s not that big a deal. He said he won’t deal with a woman or whatever, but come on.” He elbowed Swindle in the side. “Tell them!”

Swindle stumbled but recovered, shooting the helicopter a glare. “Yeah, uh, so they, uh, think you’re a woman, or, uh, take it like a woman,” his smile widened into a sickly mask as Megatron’s black expression darkened further, “but no! No, it’s okay! We just gotta explain things better than, er, I did. I kinda screwed that up good. But give it a month and they’ll be back to dealing with us again! Really! They like our technology too much to care for long about this scrap.” 

“Contracts: immediately suspended throughout Middle East,” Soundwave informed Megatron, and the two Combaticons winced. “Autobots: have spread information to the effect that their Prime uses only spike in show of ‘manliness.’”

Vortex flinched extra at that. “I told Hussein about the Prime,” he volunteered in a tiny voice, “but I didn’t know. About, uh. The valve thing. I thought he’d get it if he knew the Prime services all the Autobots.” It’d been either that or spelling out how his own position in the Decepticon ranks meant he only ever used his spike. Nothing was more humiliating that being so low in the hierarchy that a mech’s valve got no action whatsoever, but perhaps he should have explained that shame to Hussein. Telling him about the Prime giving it to the Autobots certainly hadn’t worked as planned. “I guess he, um, didn’t take it how I meant.”

“Saddam Hussein: has taken it as ‘the bitch-slut of the Decepticons opens herself to anyone who sniffs her way,’” Soundwave said so matter-of-factly it hurt to hear. “Argument being used to clear his name from Autobots’ blacklist of technology dealings. Denouncement of Decepticons has opened negotiations with ‘the virile Prime of the Autobots.’”

At least four of the Decepticons present had to look up what several of those terms meant in the context they were used in. Vortex’s rotor blades shivered nervously. Swindle’s face was a picture of horror. Soundwave looked at them in cool disdain while Starscream’s vocalizer hitched up an octave as the howling laughter continued.

Megatron rose from his seat in a towering cloud of power ready to rain pain upon the unlucky Combaticons. “My valve is a **reward**.” The words gritted out through teeth clenched in sheer rage at the blockheaded idiocy of a primitive race and the two stupid fools who’d played right into the Autobots’ propaganda game. “Optimus Prime wastes his time and energy on laboring for the pleasure of his soldiers whenever **they** decide, however **they** want. He serves **their** whims. We are not weakling Autobots. We are **Decepticons** , and the first mech to suggest I spread my legs on command will be carrying his torn-out interface array to the smelter personally before I finish executing him and throw him in after it. I know what kind of game the Autobots are playing, and I will not humble myself to submit to **anyone** , much less in some sort of competition for who can bring himself the lowest!”

Swindle backpedaled, excuses spilling out his mouth in a thin whine. Vortex turned to flee in earnest, but Megatron had him by the rotor hub before the ‘copter got two steps. “Those loyal to me may only hope I deem them **trusted** enough to please me,” the tyrant said in a dead level voice, giving emphasis to the one word he spat as if it were an impossibility. The hub in his hands squealed to underline his contempt, machinery crimping inward. Vortex vented harshly but stood as still as he could as his commander loomed ominously over him. “A fleshling’s opinion on my superiority won’t change the fact that there is **no one** on this rejected slagheap planet worthy of being permitted into my valve!”

The room whirled around Vortex, and the last thing he saw before he crashed headfirst into the wall was the stricken look in Soundwave’s visor.

The first thing he saw as he came online again was Brawl, because Brawl was allowed in the Constructicons’ domain. He practically lived in the repairbay. Brawl got on with Bonecrusher and Long Haul like a corpse on fire, and he didn’t mind being an extra pair of hands when Scrapper or Mixmaster had a project out. Of all the Decepticons on Earth, he was the only one who took orders from the Constructicons without questioning them constantly. He wasn’t smart enough for curiosity or caution.

Besides, he worked battleground demolitions. That alone made him a like-minded mech who could hang out in the repairbay whenever he wanted. 

Apparently Scavenger wasn’t the only Constructicon with a taste for collecting useful things. Onslaught had been in a temper for months from the bureaucratic war waging over whose team Brawl really belonged to. Scrapper kept trying to adopt him as an unofficial seventh Constructicon, a bizarre third leg cozied up to Devastator. 

So it wasn’t surprising for Vortex to come online to Brawl’s ugly mug. It wasn’t even surprising for Vortex to rebel yell and tackle him straight off the repair berth. There wasn’t much that Vortex _hadn’t_ done at some point when coming online, to be honest. The Constructicons didn’t even look up.

Brawl caught him under the arms on reflex and hoisted him into the air. “Congrats! You ain’t dead, ya crazy ‘copter!”

Vortex hung from his hands and laughed high and giddy before clamping both hands around his teammate’s cannon barrel to haul himself downward. “This is going to be **awesome** ,” he whispered in Brawl’s audio.

“Huh? What?” The wrigglesome ‘copter squirmed free of his hold and ran off laughing. Brawl yelled after him, “What’s gonna be awesome? What’d I miss? Fraggit, Vortex, you’re supposed to tell me this scrap!”

The source of Vortex’s glee didn’t stay unknown for long. Perhaps the only one who didn’t notice the competition start was Megatron, and even that was hotly debated. Nobody could tell if he was deliberately ignoring everything, or if rumor-enforced celibacy had rendered him oblivious. Either way, the Decepticons were avidly watching. Swindle started a betting pool. Everyone settled on the sidelines to spectate.

Onslaught never had a chance of getting in the running. Neither did Scrapper after the way his team had supported Blitzwing’s takeover attempt, but he gave it a valiant try. The increase of the Constructicons’ labors went unheeded; new energy-harvesting projects, weaponry, and plans for using Devastator on the battlefield passed over Megatron’s desk without comment from the Supreme Commander. He seemed to consider the Constructicons’ extra efforts as necessary penance, if anything. 

The odds favored Motormaster, young as he was, and the Stunticon leader knew he had the best chance. He’d been sparked to be loyal, and he’d served Megatron to the best of his abilities since coming online. If he could make his availability and willingness to serve obvious, he had a fair shot at getting into Megatron’s berth and braving the tyrant’s valve. His style of interfacing was rough but pleasing, seasoned heavily by the inexperience of youth but spiced by the same in the form of vigor and unabashed hero worship. He might be able to pull this off.

He even had a better shot at it than Skywarp, because as loyal as the Seeker was, Skywarp had a long and sordid history of pranks. Some of those pranks were notorious for being in the berth. He had no problem taking the submissive role during interfacing, but he was known for teleporting away right as the person he was spiking hovered on the verge of overload. Skywarp’s newfound devotion to following Megatron’s every word, all wide optics and practically panting at his heels, couldn’t erase that reputation. 

For his part, Motormaster suffered a sudden spate of impotency and backed off to work on getting his endurance back, or at least practice with mouth and fingers until a spike wasn’t required. That involved weeks of giving it to his own team, who strutted around slightly bow-legged and proud of it. It wasn’t often that the other Stunticons got valve action, and never from their own bossmech throwing them down and aggressively doing his best to do them through the berth until they were blissed-out and strutless with multiple overloads. 

Stunticon territory down in the barracks had some strange power dynamics going on in it right now.

The whole faction was having troubles in that regard. Nobody could keep it pressurized. It was weird because normally most of the Decepticons wouldn’t care, but now every one of the officers was jerking spike and desperately trying to figure out what was broken. It took everyone a few embarrassing -- and rather unsatisfying -- weeks to figure out their difficulties had started after routine maintenance appointments. Some strategic tweaking in their interface arrays had left spikes wilting throughout the ship.

Scrapper was a vindictive glitch. If he couldn’t prove his loyalty to Megatron and get a shot at the Supreme Commander’s valve, then _nobody would_. 

With the exceptions of the upper tiers of the ranks, that was, because messing around with Soundwave’s equipment was just asking for a lobotomy. The Communications Officer might even have slipped a bribe to the Constructicons in order to clear the field of competition, but nothing could be proven. 

If it weren’t for Shockwave, there wouldn’t have been a single competitor left. As it was, however, he was still a strong contender standing opposite Soundwave. As he always did, but this was a new set of circumstances. 

They could be gentlemechs about it. Gracious competitors striving for only the best to give their leader.

Soundwave promptly cut off communication with Cybertron.

“Error,” he said whenever Megatron requested contact with Shockwave’s Tower. “Educated guess: inadequate maintenance by repair crews on Cybertron. Shockwave’s lack of supplies and Autobot sabotage are reasonable causes for interruption.” He carefully didn’t blame the Decepticon Guardian of Cybertron, but he planted the seeds of doubt for Shockwave’s competency.

A courtesy returned in spades when Shockwave strode through the spacebridge to visit Earth in person. “An erroneous assumption based off of insufficient information,” he said smoothly when Megatron expressed concerns over the errors Soundwave encountered trying to contact Cybertron. “I checked the relays myself and posted drones around the communication array to guard it. From my brief analysis of the communication array here, perhaps guards are a necessity here as well.” 

“Is that so?” Megatron’s optics slid toward Soundwave, who sent an irate crackle of static blasting over Shockwave’s commlink.

Score: Shockwave - 1, Soundwave - 1.

“That’d explain why I was able to fix it,” Starscream said as he scooted out from under the console where he’d crawled during Shockwave’s analysis of the supposed errors. “Fix it, test it, and find more problems with everything. Primus, do I have to do everything myself? Shockwave, your scrambler frequency’s out of date. Get everything back up to code and you won’t have the blasted Autobot femmes ambushing your supply depots every other week!” Climbing to his feet, the Air Commander turned from Shockwave’s sputtering to nail Soundwave with a peeved look. “And you! What is this?” He shook a handful of chewed wires. “Teethmarks?! Keep your pests away from valuable equipment, or send them after whatever it is that’s gnawing on the wiring if they’re not to blame!”

Megatron’s optics narrowed, but for once it wasn’t at the annoyingly shrill tones of his Second. “Scrambler frequencies are standardized and changed in sync with the rest of our forces.”

Shockwave’s indignant sputtering stopped dead at the accusation disguised as an observation. “Ah. Yes. It is -- logical to -- to delay implementation on Cybertron due to the, ah, isolated nature of several of the outposts that lag behind.”

In other words, several of the outpost garrisons had gotten lazy about implementing standard updates and wouldn’t be able to decode emergency broadcasts from the Tower if Shockwave updated his own codes on time. Megatron and Starscream stared him down coldly.

Inspiration kissed the cornered mech on the helm. “It’s a procedure far down on my list of duties, as all communication responsibilities were reassigned to Soundwave upon your revival, Lord Megatron. I only update the codes as a back-up if they fall far enough out of date to alert me to the problem.” When in doubt, throw someone else under the blame bus.

Soundwave snapped straight, visor incrementally wider than a moment ago. Megatron and Starscream’s heads turned toward him, glacially slow. Only the Air Commander was smiling, and it was the smile of a sadist watching someone writhe under the knife. 

Shockwave - 2, Soundwave - 2. 

Or they might be into negative numbers by now. Negative scores, because they’d both manage to undermine the other and sunk into a collective pit of failure. 

“I’ll handle it,” Starscream said in an aside to their leader. “I’ll investigate the…malfunctioning equipment and the outposts in question, since apparently discipline’s become lax enough that my personal attention is needed.” Tossing a sneer at them all, he whirled in a showy flare of wings and stalked from the bridge. 

Megatron glanced from the departing Seeker to the two officers standing at a stalemate in front of him. “I expected total cooperation with his investigation,” he ordered, and Soundwave and Shockwave bowed deferentially to their commander.

Definitely negative scores. Despite not even trying to compete with them, Starscream had somehow pulled into the lead.

He outranked them, too, which always required delicate handling. One could never be completely sure how much the clever Air Commander knew about any given situation. That made lying to him a complicated affair of half-truths and evasion, or sacrificial scapegoats if judicial application of flattery couldn’t erase the blame. 

Ravage reluctantly came forth to ‘confess’ to the wire-chewing, apologizing to Megatron while Soundwave hovered in the background ready to swoop in and offer to administer whatever punishment the silver tyrant decided on. Megatron shot him a glare and assigned Ravage a month of pest control, supervised by Reflector. Ravage spent that month in the dank and wet, crawling through the ship’s walls searching for vermin and Autobot spies. The Cassette wouldn’t be forgiving his carrier that anytime soon.

Acid Storm took the fall for Shockwave, lip thinned in pent-up anger and humiliation as he stood at attention through a lecture on standards and responsibility to duty that he hadn’t earned. Starscream’s rants were punishments for a reason, and it should have been come down on Shockwave. By the time the Air Commander was done verbally abusing Acid Storm, the mech gladly marched to the stockade for the 50 lashes he’d ‘earned.’ Having his paint stripped by a whip was positively a relief after enduring that lecture. 

Shockwave sent the Rainmakers an unmarked crate of highgrade. Acid Storm still glowered at him.

Lingering bad mojo between Shockwave and Acid Storm did explain why the Seeker’s unit was across the planet when the next raid by the Autobot femmes happened. 

“Entire shipment of energon stolen,” Soundwave reported to Megatron, monotone yet smug. “Countermeasures ineffective. Security compromised.”

“That part of his report is true,” Shockwave said as soon as the connection opened and he faced his commander through the screen. “However, I find it suspicious that Soundwave has failed to inform you that the shipment was short to begin with, an event that has occurred several times since the shipments through the spacebridge started. The numbers of cubes sent to me does not match up to inventory, and a ‘corrected’ inventory is sent after the official inventory comes through.” His sole optic stayed steady on Megatron, refusing to acknowledge how Soundwave stiffened, visor flashing warning not to violate the unspoken agreement to keep their leader believing the Decepticons on Earth were capable of sending a stable supply of energon to Cybertron no matter any interruptions by Autobots or humans. “I’m led to believe that you are unaware of such changes.”

Megatron’s optics went incandescent in fury. “Send me these altered reports.”

“Of course, my Lord. Forgive my caution in sending them through to Air Commander Starscream instead of directly to you now,” a significant look at who was at the console currently, “but I wish to avoid a conflict of interest, considering who compiled the original inventory reports.”

Soundwave sat in his seat before the comm. console and seethed. “Fact: Autobots have stolen energon.”

Oh no, Megatron’s anger wasn’t going to be redirected back onto Shockwave alone. He had every intention of dragging his competitor down with him if he faced his leader’s displeasure today. “True, and I can only offer my Lord Megatron my sincere regrets and apologies for the lapse in security. That doesn’t change the fact that the Tower’s functionality won’t suffer from the lack. It would be a hardship if it had been a full shipment, but we’ve learned not to rely on Earth for energy. One never knows if it will arrive as scheduled.”

Ouch. The bridge crew winced back in their seats, making silent, appreciative _’ooo’_ s at the deft smackdown. Soundwave was a master at manipulating information, but Shockwave played the political game on the hardest setting.

The two officers glared through the screen at each other while Megatron rose slowly to his feet in a barely-contained storm of fury about to lash out. “I will be in my office,” he hissed. “ **Starscream!** Report to me at once!”

He wasn’t pleased with either of them after Starscream reported. Score: nil. 

Tensions ran high in the aftermath of that particular incident. Neither Soundwave nor Shockwave were scoring points. They were digging the ground out from each other and falling deeper into Megatron’s disfavor every time they matched wits. The internal warfare was doing the Decepticons no good, and it was taking out bystanders left and right every time Megatron lost his temper.

It sure was entertaining, however.

Starscream, oddly, shone like a brilliant beacon of loyalty in contrast, and all he was doing was standing by as they tussled. He seemed mildly baffled every time Megatron turned to him to sort out the tangled chaos of two loyalists bickering like spoiled Senators. It was a strange time to be him.

Megatron stood in the center of the whirlwind, the oblivious eye of the storm, but he couldn’t stay unaffected for long. 

On the one hand, the two officers kept offering him assets, making scientific and espionage breakthroughs at an astounding rate. They presented evidence of their loyalty in a pile at his feet. It was immensely flattering and showed how they were examples of loyalty to the entire faction.

On the other hand, no sooner did Shockwave present him with something than Soundwave took the floor out from under the Guardian, and vice versa. Never had the spacebridge seen so much activity, as Shockwave’s messages to Earth mysteriously encountered interference quite frequently. Something that came back to bite Soundwave on the aft when Shockwave revealed that he’d been sending the exact same messages to Starscream without interference. Starscream had no compunctions against tattling to Megatron about message interceptions. Irritated and amused in equal amounts, he made sure to point out that Shockwave had deliberately set Soundwave up instead of confronting the Communication Officer directly.

“They’re behaving like immature rookies in a spat over the last tin of wax,” Starscream said while Shockwave and Soundwave stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of Megatron’s desk. Never had two stoic, faceless mechs looked so uncomfortable. The sense of awkward in the room smothered them. How badly had they gotten out of line that _Starscream_ , of all mechs, was calling them out on their behavior? “It’s juvenile. It’s distracting. It’s a liability! I suppose demotion is out of the question?”

The two officers twitched and gave him a united glare. He’d like that, wouldn’t he? Get them out of the way, and he’d have the upper ranks subverted in days. Megatron’s back might as well have a target painted on it.

The tyrant of the Decepticons was well aware of that. “Shut up, Starscream.” He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he studied his two best supporters and current biggest headaches.

“’Shut up, Starscream,’” Starscream mocked. Flinging up his hands, he stomped toward the door. “Fine! You can deal with this on your own. You’re what they want anyway! Pick one, for Primus’ sake.” He paused on the threshold and looked from one stiff back to the other. Shockwave and Soundwave seemed stunned immobile. So much for a subtle competition. “Or take them both. Post a chart rating their performances afterward if it’ll settle this absurd contest over who has the most loyal hard-on in the ranks.”

The door closed behind Starscream. The last thing visible through it was Megatron’s thoughtful expression as he considered his Second’s words. Shockwave and Soundwave still looked to be in shock. 

Down the hall, three Combaticons and a Reflector leaned around the corner to beam at Starscream. The Seeker gave them a cocky grin and sauntered off, job done. Vortex’s giggle followed him. 

Now to see who’d come out on top. Well, not ‘on top’ as ‘in control.’ Shockwave or Soundwave in any combination, any _position_ , there was no question who’d be on top. If anyone suggested otherwise, rumor said that didn’t end well for them. Megatron’s game was nigh-invincible, in that respect, and no player could hope to conquer that aft. 

‘On top’ as in ‘who was most loyal.’ 

The Decepticons laid their last bets and staked out the door, waiting to verify the final score.

 

**[* * * * *]**


End file.
